A Roar In the Wastes
by m r s . w r i t i n g
Summary: A lot can go wrong when travelling from D.C. to New Vegas. Cannibals will have you for dinner, raiders will torture you, and the Wasteland will bury you alive. A tale about a ghoul, a vault dweller, and a lost boy trying to make their way to salvation, and the promise of New Vegas. T for violence & sensitive materials.
1. Altercation

I. Altercation

Cambridge would tell me stories about Edge Town, of the sex trafficking and the crooked law enforcement. The Lone Wanderer apparently dropped into Edge Town one evening and from what I understand, he destroyed the whole crime system. There are rumors circulating through the vast, sandy wastelands that now Edge Town is an enjoyable, profitable, redeemed town. I'm not sure if I believe that, but I'd been faced with the opportunity to find out.

We stood in front of the gates of Edge Town, the city hidden by the fences surrounding the parameter. It towered over us. The only entrance was a formidable front gate, guarded by a Protectron that paced from side to side. I looked over to Cambridge as he lit his fourth cigarette of the hour. For a ghoul whose voice was already wrecked, the last thing he needed was a cigarette.

"Hey, pull out the map for a minute."

He stuck the nicotine haven in his mouth and began rifling through the bag that we had been taking turns carrying between us. It managed to get so heavy sometimes. He gave a hard cough, making his voice even raspier, even more so for that of a ghoul, and pulled out our tattered and torn map.

"I can't wait for you to get that bracelet thing fixed," he muttered resentfully.

I rolled my eyes. My Pip Boy had broken a few weeks ago. I'd never heard of this happening before, so I'd never bothered to learn how to fix it while I was living in the Vault. Upon joining me on my quest to New Vegas, Cambridge was rather spoiled. He enjoyed not having to lug around a map just to get mangled in the bottom of a bag, and eventually puked on from his frequent bar visits.

He managed to situate the map to where we could both see it fairly well, despite the sun's rays reflecting off the paper and the unforgiving winds.

"Okay, I'm trying to find out where the nearest town is…" I trailed my finger along the illustrated trail on the shitty paper. The only thing is, I couldn't tell what was north, east, south, or west. I used my Pip Boy for that.

"Why?" Cambridge was naturally an aggravated person. If my face was mutated and I had practically no nose, I'd be grumpy, too. It was easy for me to put up with.

"Because, I really don't want to go into Edge Town," I muttered, concentrating on the map.

Cam scoffed, reached for the bag, and pinned it to my chest. "Feel that?"

I looked up.

"_Empty – _no food, no stimpacks, no filtered water. I mean, hell, we've got this!" He pulled a plastic water bottle from a holster in his belt, shaking the murky contents at me. "But I _hate_ dirty water. We really don't have a choice, Rory. Besides, what's wrong with this place?"

I sighed. I could taste the stupid in my words already. "You told me this place used to be really shitty."

"Key word: _used._ That fucking Lone Wanderer came and fixed everything remember?" His tone sharpened at the mention of the Lone Wanderer, and he dragged on his cigarette. "I hear this place is great, now. Plus, we don't have that much of a choice." He pointed to the empty sack I now held in my arms, collapsed. "Don't be picky, girl. Let's go."

Cam began towards the gate without me, but I continued to whine. "You don't want to just try to make it to…" I trailed off, glancing at the map, "Nuka Plant… Over Look Drive In… Cliffside Cavern… What about Ten Penny Tower?" None of which sounded like towns.

"Ten Penny Tower is a bunch of hoity-toity snobs, anyway." Cambridge threw his cigarette to the ground. "Won't get shit outta them."

I frowned, and gave a deep sigh of defeat.

Cam rolled his eyes, grabbing me by the forearm, pulling me with him as he started for the gate again. "Come on, there's gotta be _something_ in this shithole."

They were terms of endearment, I swear.

Abruptly, however, he stopped in his tracks, turned on his heels, and looked me in the eye. He pointed at my wrist. "And we are getting _that_ thing _fixed!"_

He continued on to the gate, where the Protectron promptly ceased his back and forth, turned to us, and ran off what I was sure was his normal spew.

"Greetings!" It spoke in a computerized monotone. "Welcome to Edge Town. My name is Dally, the Protectron designated to the front gate. By entering the boundaries of Edge Town, you will be held to the laws of Edge Town and swear to abide by them. Do you concur?"

As if expectantly, it slowly turned toward Cambridge, and a red light blinked upon it's chest. I watched Cam as he agreed to the terms. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." And as he paused after his statement, the red light died, and a recording of Cam sounded, echoing him.

The light flickered, and Dally then turned toward me. I was apprehensive, unsure, since I'd never seen this before. I nodded.

"You have to say it," Cambridge corrected. "He doesn't respond to nods."

"Oh, uhm… Yes?" What the hell was this?

And right on queue he responded, "Welcome to Edge Town!"

The gates were released, opening up to us a wide view of metal shacks and dirt. I honestly couldn't understand why it was even a gated community. We stepped through the threshold and began through the town. We passed a few farm animals, morphed and deformed by the century's radiation. There were a few ghouls, as well, which always made Cambridge feel better. (I know he would never admit it, but being the only ghoul around always made him feel uncomfortable in our ventures.)

There were a couple of street venders. A merchant had made his station on the porch of a saloon, where he was selling rad roach meat and mole rat meat. There were a couple of scorpion tales, but I didn't really take notice. I try to avoid radiated meat as much as possible. Rad-Away is scarce these days.

I stopped in my tracks as I came across a wardrobe merchant. Hanging in the back of his shift-made booth, made from wood and random scraps of tin, I could see a full set, in rather good condition, leather armor! I gasped, looking down at my tattered and torn armor that Mrs. Gibson just couldn't repair to my liking. I could repair it, though, as long as I had some extra material to work with.

The caps jingled in my hand as I pulled them from my cap purse, off my belt, and I slammed them on the table.

"How much for the leather armor?!" Looking back on it, I shouldn't have been so excited.

The old man, covered in dirt, narrowed his eyes, and looked me up and down, as if contemplating. "Sixty."

I wasn't really sure if that was a fair price or not, because I loot most of my armor. In fact, I hadn't bought a set of armor in months. I always seemed to be able to lift it off a dead raider, or an old forgotten wardrobe in an old Gunman's house. But honestly, I didn't really have a choice. My armor was in such bad condition, my safety was jeopardized.

"Sixty," I confirmed, handing over the money.

He grabbed the leather off the hanger, bundled it up, and handed it to me. Now, all I really needed was a place to work on it.

Stuffing the purchase in our travel bag, I looked up at Cambridge, who had just lit another cigarette. "I bet your insides look just as bad as your outsides because of those things," I said.

He scoffed. "Oh, ha, ha."

I ignored him. "We need to find a place to stay tonight." I was beginning to muddle through my brain what all I would have to do to repair myself.

He took a drag on his cigarette. "Lefty's Inn will do," he exhaled.

"Lefty's Inn," I thought. "That doesn't sound creepy enough."

Across town (which wasn't saying much, considering I could have thrown a rock from the merchant and still hit the inn) we found ourselves outside of a dirty old shack. It looked smaller than the saloon across the street, and it was only three or four times as big as the vender booth we had just visited.

"Uh, we're supposed to rent a room out of that?" I said, incredulous at the thought.

Cambridge exhaled. "You'll see."

He threw a roach on the ground, and led me inside of Lefty's Inn, or Lefty's Closet – which is what it should have been named. The door was falling off the hinges, but it was so tiny I'm sure there was nothing inside to even steal.

"It probably has like two chairs and a mattress," I thought. "A bed frame if we're lucky."

I could see my tracks behind me in the dust as I looked back to survey the broken door. In front of us, at what I presumed to be the front desk was an old lady, with red hair and a cigar hanging out of her mouth.

The blue eye shadow on her lids was uncanny, and also probably very expensive. Makeup was difficult to find in the waste lands. For a while, women tried to make makeup from fruit, but everything was so radiated, that the makeup derived from those radiated vegetation cause a lot of skin issues, such as skin deteriorating and falling off. A lot of women went without eye lids for a while, in the Wastelands.

"Hey Misty," Cambridge chimed, cracking a smile, turning on his charm. He could be a cool guy when he wanted to be.

She wasn't amused. "What do you want, Cambridge?" She rolled her eyes and spoke over the cigar in her mouth. Her voice was so raspy, almost comparable to that of a ghoul.

"Let's just hope that makeup is real," I thought to myself, snidely, "otherwise she'll begin to look like one."

Cambridge tried to ignore her attitude, chocking up a nice serving of sarcasm "Why, Misty, I would like to rent a room from your lovely abode!"

I almost choked at the idea. Where? There was no room!

"What are you up to, Cambridge?" Misty inquired, narrowing her baggy eyes at us.

He sighed. "I just want a place to lay my head. Is that too much to ask?"

She looked at him, looked down at her big, disheveled book, and then back at us. Pursing her lips over her cigar, she flipped the book open, and as it slammed over her desk, disturbing the settled dust everywhere, she began to scribble.

"It'll be 150 caps," she said a matter-of-fact tone.

I raged. "150!? That's-"

Cambridge's hand flew over my mouth and gave an innocent smile as Misty glared down at me. Almost offended that I dare challenge her price.

"It'll be 150 or you sleep in the dirt." She took her pen, and pointed to the door.

"This is the only inn in town," Cambridge muttered next to my ear. Turning back to Misty he perked up, "150 sounds just fine to me! A very reasonable price, very fair!"

Then he looked to me, expectantly. I rolled my eyes, and reached into my cap purse, and pulled out a good handful, counting them out, pulling out a handful, and a third – amounting to 150 caps. That left us with 70 caps on me.

That's 70 caps that we would have to last us back to my house in Megaton, where I would sell all the loot I'll be acquiring on the trek back, and where I would pull from my reserve.

Sometimes we'd find ourselves in need of some place to stay that charged an outrageous rate, like right now, for example. Rooms in the Wastes normally went from 80 caps to 200. 200 caps would get you a suite, normally; perhaps not a very nice one, but provided amicable room for two travelers to have personal space, and an opportunity to rest. 120 would get you an average sized room, but also a meal, and it was of decent quality. This place just didn't seem worth 120. Cambridge, however, had _insisted_ we stay in Edge Town, and we weren't faced with any choice _but_ Lefty's Inn.

Misty scooped the pile of caps into her lap, out of sight, and finished scribbling in her large book. She reached from behind her desk, and pulled out a key.

Cambridge was quick to grab it and then turn on his heels.

I was interested to see what our room would look like. I was also a little scared. He led me away from the desk, toward a narrow door way. I couldn't really imagine where we would be staying considering how small the place looked from the outside.

However, we entered the doorway, which led into a small room with a staircase, leading into the floor. A basement perhaps? Cambridge hopped onto the staircase, jumping down, skipping steps at a time. He obviously knew where he was going. Once we had reached the bottom of the staircase, we were at a small landing, turned the banister, and another staircase appeared. At the end of that staircase, was yet another landing. We were on an extremely long staircase leading us, what it seemed like, underground.

"Is this place underground or something?" I asked, as we finally reached the bottom of the long stairwell, a door sitting in front of us.

Looking around us, the steel stairs were dirty with boot prints, and the walls were made of stone, as if the room was carved into the earth. The doorframe that held up the door in front of us, was edged into one of the four stone walls.

"You'd be surprised how inexpensive it is to power an entire inn that's underground. With no light coming in, and not having to worry about the heat, only having to light up the place, which is cheap with the right equipment, it's a gold mine! And all they had to do was buy an old storm shelter that was already here. They just renovated it."

Cambridge reached for the doorknob and swung the door open. Inside was a hallway that looked just like any other hallway would. There were painted walls, with decorative paintings hung in between doors to each room. The floors were finished, and the room was very well lit.

We were Room 6, which was located at the very end of the hallway, on the right. Cambridge slipped the key in, which gave him no trouble at all; slip in and twist. The door swung open and my heart sank.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Cambridge moaned.

"_One _bed?!" I stomped over the threshold.

"That bitch," Cambridge snarled.

I turned and looked up at him, slightly worried. One bed?

Cambridge and I were nowhere near that kind of close. And it was in no way because of his features. It was his personality. He was such a smartass. I couldn't even imagine intimacy with this guy. So the idea of sharing a bed with him? It just wasn't happening. With traveling through the Wastes, though, one doesn't just take the floor. When you have access to a bed, you sleep in it, and you cherish it.

The room was lovely despite the shortage in sleeping space. The floors were finished in here as well. There were a lot of worn, old world items, but it was charming. There were even two or three books that were in rather okay condition. I could tell that Misty definitely did not decorate this room, or any of the other living spaces for that matter.

"She did this on purpose," he muttered. "Will she ever forgive me?"

Cambridge was always picking a fight because of his attitude. "God, Cam, what did you do?" I growled, in utter frustration, throwing my bag and weaponry all on the single large bed, with only a .44 magnum connected to my hip. "You know what? Never mind. I'm fixing this."

I was beginning to get really aggravated with this entire town. It wasn't worth the pile of dirt it was built on, and although this inn was unique and beautifully decorated (the best of what the Waste could get you in terms of interior design) the customer service was terrible.

"You can't just be the only Inn in town and use that as an opportunity to treat everyone who walks into your business like shit!" I was livid.

I walk the Wastes for _days_. I scavenge, loot, and trade. I save lives, I help families, and sometimes…I help call truces. And _this_ is how the universe repays me? I'm not sure what "Misty's" deal with Cambridge is, and giving him a one bedroom suite with anyone else would be hilarious, but with me? You just don't take the floor in the Wastes. Maybe if you're one of those suckers at Ten Penny Tower, maybe. But not in the real world.

What was this chick's deal anyway? Did she used to be a prostitute or something? Because her business skills suck, and she definitely has the makeup taste for the trade. "I'm sorry," I thought. "That's insulting to prostitutes."

Upstairs, in the compacted, tiny lobby, Misty had her nose in her book, scribbling.

"Excuse me?" I said, looking up at her from behind her desk that towered over the rest of the room. Was that really necessary?

However, I didn't hear a response.

"Hello?"

And again, I was ignored.

Rolling my eyes, I gave a hard sigh, and walked around the desk, toward the opening at the side. I stepped up the platform, reached from behind her, and slammed her book closed.

She clasped her hands to her chest, out of the heavy book's path, and looked up at me with angry, furrowed brows.

"_Can I help you?" _ She spat.

"Uh, yeah, like five seconds ago, when you chose to ignore me."

Her eyes narrowed at me on the platform behind the desk. "You're not supposed to be up here, _girl."_

"Well, it looks like I am, doesn't it - _ bag?" _

Her eyes widened and she sucked in a gasp. I stared back down at her, arms folded, now the one towering over her, changing the tables.

Misty's expression faded. "Didn't I take _care_ of you earlier?" And the word "care" had not been used as a term of endearment.

"No, you didn't. Actually, you completely worsened the situation. I'm even more irritated than I was before."

She rolled her eyes.

"On top of a ridiculously high price, that you charge because you know you're the only inn in this litter box, you gave us one bed."

The corners of her mouth twitched. Her gaudy pink nail rose, and pressed at her cheeks. "I thought you two were together."

"You know we fucking weren't, because you apparently know Cambridge, otherwise you wouldn't give him shit. And if you know him, you know that_ this_," I pointed at myself, "isn't happening. Now change the room, or give us our money back."

"You already paid for the one bed, _girl_. If you want a second bed, then you're gonna have to pay extra."

There she went with that "_Girl_" thing again.

For the most part, I found myself a very reasonable person. I killed only when absolutely necessary, and when my safety or of those I loved were endangered. I traveled the Wastes under a moral code that I honored unconditionally. And in that very moment, I considered making the code, in fact, conditional.

The feeling of her wiry, dry hair in between my gloved fingers, pulling at her scalp, forcing that terribly painted face to look up at me, gave me an undeniable satisfaction. I felt my teeth clench, and I could almost smell the shock off of her.

"Look, Lady. You've tried my patience enough-"

BANG! My heart stopped as the familiar sounds of gunshot echoed through the town. From within the inn, I could hear the cries and surprised exclamations of citizens, and the sounds of their running about as they fled. My fingers fell from Misty's head, and I jumped down from her desk, making my way for the door.

Everyone darted for the nearest building, piling in, and slamming the door behind them. The saloon was full, along with The General Supply Store.

Standing in the middle of the sandy, main road were four men, all in a circle, facing one another. Taking a step out of the inn and closer to the spectacle, I could see that they were standing around something, staring at it. Closing the distance between us, I could tell that they were in fact looking at a young man.

He clutched his leg, near his ankle. The whites of his eyes contrasted against the dirt on his face. I could barely see his skin he was so dirty.

A man with a gun (the only one who had one, from what I saw) looked down on the young man, and cocked it. "We told you not to trespass! What's it gonna take for you to mind?"

"Just kill him!" Another groaned. I couldn't see his face.

The one with the gun, I could see him. He was almost as dirty as the man on the ground was, his white wife beater was no longer white, and his jacket was wrapped around his waist. There was a tattoo displayed on his shaven head, an 'X.' Very simple, but very questionable.

"Hey!" I called, claiming the attention of all four men, and the young man.

As the skin headed man, sporting his gun, turned and made eye contact with me, it then occurred to me that I trotted into this ordeal with broken armor. Fuck. My fingers twitched at my side, grazing the .44 Magnum at my hip. It was my only weapon I had on me. I'd left everything on the bed in the room. I had no ammunition back up, either. I really hope that this didn't turn nasty.

"What are you doing?" a civilian hollered into the street from within hiding.

The Gunman scoffed. "Lady, are you stupid? Didn't you see everyone else go inside? Maybe you should do the fucking same, huh?"

I could almost see the mood change in color, as I cocked a brow and a hip, throwing my hand on my side. Sometimes I couldn't control the Woman in me. "_Excuse_ me?"

The other men chuckled.

"You fucking heard me. Now, fucking go!"

This guy needed a Mentat or something, because his approach was atrocious.

"What are you even doing?" I continued, unwilling to back down now. "Let him go. He's defenseless."

"Okay, Lady," the Gunman rolled his eyes and growled. He looked to one of the men, whose face was covered partially by his goggles, the other half by filth. "Get her."

A man in goggles from the group made way for me. I immediately took a step back.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" I warned. I wanted to reach for my .44, but my ammo was very limited.

He continued forward, reaching out for me.

I grabbed his right wrist with my left hand, rotated and hit him at an upward angle with my right elbow. He looked down, grasping his nose, almost doubling over. I grasped the back of his head, and rammed his face into my heavily padded knee. He went limp, and fell to the ground, completely out.

"Fuck!" The Gunman exclaimed, grabbing hold of the young man's collar. He pulled him up to his feet, and took a few steps back. The Gunman looked to the other two. "Get her!"

"You're kidding, right?" I said, more to myself than to them.

The others fell to the grown pretty quickly. I kicked one in the face who then ran away clutching his own broken nose, spitting teeth out in his path. I knocked the other one in the back of knees, sending him into the dirt. My fingers twisted in his hair, tearing at his scalp. I reached for his belt, and pulled his knife, and placed it at his throat. With a smile, I looked up at our Gunman, holding a gun to his captive's head.

"Now, you wanna let that boy go?" I felt like giving him the option, because honestly, I don't like killing with other people's weapons.

The blade pressed to the man's throat. A drop of blood cascaded down his collar bone.

The Gunman chortled. "You're not going to kill him."

"Is that a dare?" I smirked.

He just smiled at me, obviously tightening his grip on the boy's collar. I could see the contemplation in his eyes as his brazen expression fell. He wanted to challenge me. He wanted to play this game of chicken. Maybe he was low on resources, and couldn't afford to lose the man whose life I held at the end of this blade. Perhaps, even, he knew that once I killed this man, I'd go after him, and he was afraid I'd be enough of a fight to take him. All in all, I was beginning to get the impression that this guy wasn't all that tough. Considering strength in numbers and all that.

After a moment, he said, "Fuck off."

This guy must be stupid.

I pulled the knife away from the man's throat, to the Gunman's pleasure. And without a second thought, taking less than half a second, I lodged it into his neck. I'm not _that_ particular about which weapons I kill with. It's a preference, is all.

There was a noticeable, and undeniable fear in the Gunman's face. I could tell that he knew his lack of cooperation was a mistake.

After a moment of bleeding, the body at my feet went slack. My fingers relaxed as I felt his hair fall from my finger tips, and watch his body fall to the ground, into the dirt.

My fingers weren't alone for long. They wrapped around my .44, and I aimed it directly at his head.

"Now, let's try one more time," I breathed. "Let him go."

He pressed his lips in a firm line, and his brows furrowed, showing his obvious discontent. I could see anger in his eyes from across the way. I had only hoped that he wouldn't reach for his gun and do anything stupid, anything that would endanger this man.

Removing the gun from the man's face, he held up the gun, displaying it to me in surrender.

"Fine, just calm the fuck down," he sneered. The gun pointing to the sky, he took a few steps toward me, clutching the man's shoulders.

I watched the victim flinch as he gave his shoulder one last squeeze and threw him to the ground at my feet. .44 still in one hand, I knelt down to help him up, brushing the sand from his hair, and off his shoulders. As he stood, he leaned on one leg, but he still towered over me. Now that I had the opportunity to get a better look at him, he seemed to be about 18 or 19 years old, dark haired, brown eyes.

I glanced at his ankle, it was bleeding. It didn't look like a gun wound, but I couldn't tell what it was from the dirt and blood. I'd have to look at it later.

In a swift movement, the gunman removed his hovering weapon from its position, and pointed it directly at me. Why was he being so unnecessarily difficult? Again, I raised my .44.

"Make that mistake, fucker!"

He scowled.

"In fact, why don't you just go ahead and fucking drop that, and get out of this town."

"Listen you little bitch-"

Bang.

The sound of my pistol caused the boy at my side to flinch, as the dirt under the feet of the Gunman stirred, causing the thug to jump.

"Like I said," I reiterated. "Make that _fucking_ mistake."

The expression of anger and rage was then immediately replaced with unmistakable wary. One hand found the sky as the other slowly brought the gun to the ground, barrel facing away from us. Then, both hands were in the air, and he took steps back, making his leave. His eyes remained on me, for six more steps, his breath hitched. I remained still, until he turned his back to me and bolted.

I really should have killed him, but I didn't feel like murdering too much in a town on my first visit.

I put up my weapon.

"Oh my God!" Gasped the handsome young man at my side.

I looked up at him, broad shouldered and towering over me, even with a wounded leg.

"Thank you," he said solemnly, staring down at me with kind eyes. His dark brown, doe eyes were rather captivating. I didn't find many men attractive in the Wasteland.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Jeremy."

"And how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"What was that, Jeremy? Why were those men bothering you?"

His gaze left mine and fell onto the unconscious men at my feet. "They're a gang that sits outside of town."

"And why were they bothering you?" I repeated.

He shook his head, and looked off.

It was obvious he didn't want to answer my question, or he just straight up didn't want to talk about it. I was willing to give the topic a little space.

Windows and doors began to unlock and open, and the citizens began to crawl out of hiding. One by one, they began to litter the streets, and crowd around my mayhem, looking up at me, and inquired at me with their eyes.

"The Rats…" A woman exclaimed. "She scared them away!"

"And knocked two of 'em out!" Cried a man.

"Arrest those men! Put them in jail!" came from another voice.

Citizen by citizen, there were additions made to the crowd, leaving in front of me, standing by the inn, a horde of people cheering gleefully at what I had done.

I turned and looked up at Jeremy inquisitively, who simply smiled.

"I'm confused." I know that guys sitting and beating up a teenager isn't the best thing in the world, but I didn't expect to get praise for beating a bunch of guys up. In the Wastes, you were either disliked or no one really cared about you at all.

I felt my Pip Boy vibrate.

"_Oh, please tell me you've miraculously decided to work for me!" _

It buzzed against my wrist, and a word crossed the screen.

"Idolized."

Then, the letters faded, and the buzzing ceased. It had died again.

Idolized? Typically, when Cam and I travel the Wastelands, we come across a few villages and towns who ask for help or are willing to pay for help. Sometimes, if you aid a town to such an extent, you build a reputation with them. (Unfortunately, that road works both ways. If you harm the town, you develop a different type of reputation.) My Pip Boy is scientifically programmed to keep up with a lot of things, such as inventory, weapon condition, apparel condition, health condition, and even my reputations in the towns that Cam and I visit.

To become idolized is no effortless task. It requires trust and relationships to be built across town, and time. To beat up a few men and my Pip Boy deem me Idolized?

"_Well, it is broken. Perhaps it's glitching." _

The crowd, like roaches, swarmed around the one unconscious body. A few citizens lifted them up, and carried him off. I stood at Jeremy's side for a moment, before retreating into the inn, to see what would come of the two who tried to attack me.

"They're taking him to the Sheriff's office, to lock him up," Jeremy informed me.

Everyone else had dispersed, running back into their houses and off into town, smiles on their faces, and laughter filling the air. This really seemed to be a big deal.

"What…just happened?"

Jeremy ran his hands through his jet black hair that fell right past his ears, shaking off the sand. "Those guys have been terrorizing this town for months."

"Oh really?"

He nodded.

I cocked my hip to the side. "And are you going to tell me what they want with you?"

His eyes drifted, his voice filling with reluctance. "They have my brother. I thought I could convince them to let him go."

I had only met this boy a few moments ago, and I could already feel the dip in his mood. I could almost hear his heart plummet at his words.

"Where do you live, Jeremy?" Subject change.

"Outside the town's gates."

"_Where there's no protection, probably. No wonder your brother's missing."_ I scolded myself for my thoughts. There's no reason to pass judgment.

It was close to dusk, and I wasn't about to let this kid leave the gates when it was about to get dark. He had just been attacked. He was covered in bruises and cuts, from what I could see through the dirt. I sighed.

"Come on; let's go get you cleaned up."

I turned my heels and headed for the Inn.

"I only live 30 minutes out of town. I should get home." I could hear the concern in his voice.

I looked to him sternly. "Look, dude. You were almost killed. You aren't leaving these gates in the dark after what just happen." I pointed behind me. "I have a room with a friend. You can take a bath, clean up your wounds, and tell me all about what's going on, okay?" I pointed to the town exit. "But I'll shoot you if you head for that gate."

Jeremy sighed.

"Follow me," I said in a low voice.

Misty wasn't in her chair, anymore. She crouched on the floor behind her desk. I suppose she had been cowering from the ruckus, or perhaps even from me. I seriously would have shot her, had not Jeremy's predicament interrupted my recent task.

"So, Misty!" I called as I entered the door.

She gasped at the sound of me calling her name.

"Where were we?" I stepped up onto the platform behind her desk and leaned over to stare at her. "What's it gonna be? New room with another bed? I will shoot you, Misty. Don't tempt me."


	2. Lost Boy

II. Lost Boy

"I didn't even know that these existed!" I awed as Cam removed the cushions from the sofa in the corner of the room, and pulled it out into a bed.

"They're very rare," he replied. "This whole place must have been furnished from before the war. I hear they're really uncomfortable."

"Awh," I frowned. "That's awful, because you're sleeping on it tonight."

Cambridge rolled his eyes. He pointed to the bathroom, where Jeremy resided, scrubbing the dirt from his body. "If this place didn't have warm, purified water," his finger then pointed to me, "I'd be really pissed at you right now."

I giggled. "You'll get over it."

He shook his head and pulled pillows and blankets from the tiny closet near the couch. Cambridge was a jerk, in a lot of situations. For some reason, though, he wasn't that much of a jerk to me. Don't get me wrong, he's a mouthy little fucker, but he never steps out of line with me. I think it's because I have his respect.

He didn't really make his bed. He sort of just threw everything on there and plopped down.

"Now, do you want to explain to me how you went to get a new room and came back with him instead?" He eyed the bathroom door again.

"You didn't hear the gun shots?"

He knocked on the wall behind the sofa. "Underground, sweetheart. Sound proof."

I shrugged. "I guess that makes sense."

"Who you been shooting at?"

"Well, I was _about_ to shoot Misty for mouthing off to me, but Jeremy was getting beaten up outside."

"The boy?"

"He's barely a boy, Cam." I made way for my own bed. "He's like 19."

Cam rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, they fucked up his leg and were obviously about to hurt him. So I took care of it. And it turned out to be a really big deal, because apparently they're apart of some gang."

Cam's eyes widened, and he sat up. "A gang?" He seemed a little too intrigued by the statement for his own good. "The Rats?" he added an inquiry.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

His eyes relaxed, and he beamed, from ear to ear. "Yeah!" He threw a fist in the air. "I knew that fucking Lone Wanderer wasn't perfect!" He jumped up from the sofa. "That Vault 101 DICK."

My head fell in my hands. _"Is this necessary?"_

"What's up, Cam?"

"Remember when I told you how the Lone Wanderer supposedly cleaned up the town? He was supposed to have handled the Rats, and everyone made such a big deal about it. And now they're back!"

I was appalled. "Cam! No! No! That's _bad!_ That means people are getting hurt. What's wrong with you?"

He just chortled across the room. "Yeah, but that means the Lone Wanderer fucked up. He isn't perfect!"

I shook my head. "Whatever, Cam."

It was dark by now, not that I would have been able to tell, due to the lack of windows. I began to shed off my armor, throwing it in a pile with the new set I would use to upgrade it with. The sheets to the bed were a little dingy, but they looked great by the typical Wasteland standards. Nothing's really clean in the Wastes anymore. We still wash clothes, if we can find pure water. But for the most part, the towns we've come across haven't been equipped with water purifiers yet. From what I understand, this town had been equipped with one, thanks to the Lone Wanderer. I hope Cam appreciates that fact whenever he takes a bath, later.

I sighed, frustrated with the general situation. "I can't wait until we get to New Vegas, Cam."

"I know, Ror. It'll be nice to count on a shower on a regular basis."

I plopped onto the bed. "I just hate that we have to be on the other side of the fucking country."

In Washington DC, where we currently resided, there was a massive amount of radiation. That's how Cambridge became a ghoul, that's why there were mutants roaming the old city ruins, and that's why pretty much all the water we came across was radiated.

What used to be known as Las Vegas is now New Vegas, and I hear stories of territories and homes being set up outside the gambling city, where there's water, grass, and vegetation. You can fish, and actually catch REAL fish that only have _one _head. You can even eat them! And there are wells drilled where you can get access to fresh, safe water.

That's where we were headed. The trek, however, would require a lot of supplies, which would take a lot of money. So, we travelled from town to town, performing jobs and getting loot. I had a lot of money saved up, but I wanted enough for us to settle on for a while once we got there, and to cover us for any emergencies during our journey.

After a few moments lost in my thoughts, day dreaming about the promises New Vegas had in store for us, I heard rustling in the bathroom. The water splashed, and there were footsteps. Jeremy was probably out of the tub. As I crawled out of bed and made my way for the bathroom, Cambridge was already asleep, practically shaking the walls with his snores. Once Cam was quiet and still for more than three minutes, he was out. He was probably the only habitant of the Wastelands who didn't have a sleeping disorder.

I knocked on the door of the bathroom, with intentions to check on Jeremy and his injuries.

"Yeah?"

I opened it slowly, allowing him any time to cover up if needed. He stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, surveying the cuts and bruises on his face.

The water in the bathtub was brown. I wasn't that surprised. I reached into the water, cautiously, and released the plug. The water drained and I approached Jeremy, who stood bare, in nothing but a towel. He obviously wasn't bashful.

"Can I see your ankle?" I asked, unaffected by the half nudity. I'd stabbed a man in the neck two hours earlier. The human body didn't phase me.

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Jeremy turned and limped toward the toilet.

He sat on the toilet, and I bent to my knees. Carefully placing his foot in my lap and situating his leg for the wound's inspection, I looked up. Although, I lacked the typical, girly reaction to a half naked man in my bathroom, I did make an observation. He was tall, broad shouldered, and built. In the Wastes, strength was important.

"You never told me your name," said Jeremy, looking down at me, as I cradled his foot in my hands.

"Rory." I smiled. "Now you know."

On the top of his ankle, near the fold in between his foot and leg, was a slice.

"Did someone cut you?"

"I tripped while running," he replied.

I got up and began rifling through the first aid kit I'd unpacked and placed in the bathroom. I pulled out a couple of stimpacks. Kneeling back down in front of Jeremy, I injected a stimpacks into his leg.

He flinched.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I just hate needles."

I chuckled.

There was a pause as he cringed at my handling of the needle. He tried to distract himself with conversation. "So...Rory, huh?"

I nodded, watching the ankle heal. Oh, the wonders of a Stimpack.

"That's a pretty name. How did your parents come up with that?"

I stood, discarded the empty stimpacks, returned to Jeremy, and took a close look at his face. He had a couple of cuts above his eye brows, on his chin, and a really bad bruise on his cheek.

"Uhm…" I wasn't exactly sure how to answer his question. I suppose I just had to be straightforward. "They didn't, really."

"Your parents didn't name you? Or do you not have parents?" He tried to furrow his brow out of curiosity.

"Relax your face, please." I didn't want to use a stimpack on his face. They're expensive, and the injuries there weren't that bad. So, I pulled out a bottle of whiskey. "This is going to burn like hell, but it'll do you some good, okay?"

Still hesitant from my methods, he nodded. He hissed in pain at the dabs of whiskey I applied to the red, little slits on his face.

"Are you going to answer my question?" he said, wincing.

I sighed. He wasn't letting it go. "I used to live in Vault 14."

"You're a Vault Dweller?!" His eyes lit up, and his voice hitched.

I smiled. His excitement was cute. I nodded. "Yeah, I'm a Vault Dweller. There was a fire one day, and we were all locked in. I barely got out, but I managed. I didn't get out without a few burn marks, though."

"Your…vault caught on fire?"

I nodded, again.

"I didn't know that was possible. I thought they were supposed to be the safest places, ever."

"They're supposed to be impenetrable – which they are. No one gets in, and no one gets out without the right security codes."

"But that doesn't explain your name. So your parents didn't name you?"

My eyes dropped, and I set down the bottle of whiskey on the back of the toilet. I stepped back and turned away. Only Cambridge had seen these. Facing away from Jeremy, I removed my undershirt, exposing my bare back.

"Oh, wow." I could hear him gulp. "That looks like it hurt."

Right under my shoulders, above the middle of my back, the scar from a large, third degree burn.

"When I lived in Vault 14, there was an electrical fire. We did our best to escape. A lot of people died. They were either burned to death or passed out from inhaling the smoke."

I could picture my father run towards me in our apartment with a mask. "_Breathe through this. It'll help with the smoke!" _ I could still remember his scent, as he wrapped his arms around me, fastened the mask, and led me to the exit of the vault, after he fastened his own.

I brought my shirt back down, turned, and sat in front of Jeremy. "On the way to the exit, we had finally opened the door and were all about to flee. All of the remaining survivors had fled – there were only about twenty. But, there was a really creaky noise. I looked up, and a metal beam had come lose. I was pushed out of the way, but it still hit me, in the back, and it was really, really hot."

Jeremy stared down at me, his brows furrowed, with an expression of astonishment.

"I was carried to the nearest town, Megaton, where the doctor there doctored me back to health. He monitored the burn, and as the scar formed, it began to look more and more like a Rorschach."

"Like from those books we keep finding in all the abandoned libraries," said Jeremy.

I chuckled. "What kind of books have you been reading?"

He shrugged. "I like reading the medical journals. They're pretty useful."

I shook my head and continued. "Everyone started calling me Rory after that. The doctor, the people," I pointed to the bathroom door, "and Cambridge."

"Yeah, he sounds nice," Jeremy scoffed.

I laughed. "He's not as bad as he seems."

"Yeah, well, I think he is."

Again, I laughed. Cambridge did come off a little strong at times.

I stood and gazed around the room. Under the sink, I found Jeremy's clothes, bundled up. I took them, threw them in the bathtub, and ran some cold water.

I kneeled before the tub and rubbed at his filthy clothes with a bar of soap. "Well, Jeremy, are you going to tell me why those men were bothering you today?"

I could hear him sigh from behind me.

"I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but it's important you tell me. I can probably help you."

There was disappointment in his voice. "You can't help. The Lone Wanderer couldn't even do anything. The Rats just came back."

I dropped the soap for a moment, and looked over my shoulder at Jeremy, who now stood, pacing from one side of the bathroom to the other. "Hey, don't underestimate me. I've taken on entire bands of raiders. You don't know what Cam and I are capable of."

The stains on these clothes were atrocious. I knew that a bar of soap wasn't going to get me very far. Dejectedly, I threw the bar into the water, and released the plug.

"You don't want these clothes anymore, do you?"

He shook his head. "I have some more at home."

"Cool, because I think I found some clothes in one of these drawers earlier."

I gathered clothes from the bedroom for Jeremy, for him to replace his old ones with. Then, after leaving the bathroom to provide him with privacy, I just stared at my bed for a moment. I had a moral disposition against making people sleep on the floor. And I had gone through so much trouble today to get a second bed. I glanced at Cam, who was asleep on top of the covers, passed out from our conversation earlier. I was hoping his snoring would stop, but I knew that it wouldn't; it never did. I don't know why I even bothered wishing.

Sleeping with Cam would just be awkward. Because he's Cam. I don't know why, but it's just always been that way.

I was faced with two options. I could sleep with a perfect stranger, or I could sleep with Cam, who only ever had a condescending thing to say.

"_Well, maybe Jeremy won't blow the walls down with his snores?"_

I decided to take my chances with a perfectly good stranger.

After travelling all day today, and then having to take out some trash once we got to Edge Town, I was exhausted. I had no idea, though, what the world had in store for tomorrow, so I knew that I needed to get my armor repaired as soon as possible. I was really pushing my luck, earlier today, taking on those four men in such bad condition. If the Gunman had had the balls to shoot me, I probably would have died. There's no telling what condition Jeremy would be in, or if Cambridge would have had been able to hear any of the commotion from the underground, sound proof fortress.

I couldn't help but think about the jubilant civilians after I'd handled those creeps. They were so happy. If the Pip Boy didn't malfunction earlier, I was even idolized by them. What gang could be so terrible that even the Lone Wanderer couldn't permanently get rid of them? I thought it was weird that they called themselves Rats and they apparently were pests difficult to get rid of just like the rodent.

They must have caused some real trouble to Jeremy and his brother, considering they'd kidnapped him. And Jeremy obviously wasn't equipped to handle getting his brother alone, especially considering he was brought down by a few punches and an injured ankle.

Under the lamplight at the desk, I was fiddling with the repairs on my armor when Jeremy came from the bathroom, wearing the clothes I'd brought him earlier.

"If I can steal a pillow from your bed, I'll sleep on the floor."

I thought it was funny how he completely disregarded any option at all to sleep with Cambridge.

"The bed's pretty big. I'm sure it'll fit the both of us," I said nonchalantly. It was less weird sharing a bed with a handsome, total stranger than Cam. "Unless you're a kicker, then you can just sleep with Cam."

He chuckled. "No, it's alright. I don't mind the floor." He began to reach for a pillow, but I held my hand out, in gesture to stop him.

"Seriously, Jeremy. I don't mind. If you don't make it awkward, I won't."

He threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine, you win. I'll sleep comfortably."

I chuckled.

Jeremy crawled into bed, and I continued to work on my leather.

"So what's your brother's name?" I asked from under the lamp light.

"Dean," he whispered, staring up at the ceiling.

"What happened to him?"

"I told you they took him."

I turned from the lamplight and peered at Jeremy. "Don't be difficult," I retorted. "They were gang members, right? What were they wearing. How many were there. What kind of weapons did they have. How did they take him." They weren't questions, they were requests for pieces of information, demands almost.

"Uh…" He hesitated. I could detect a slight discomfort. "Uhm, we were at home. It was night time." He looked at me. There was sadness in his eyes. "I was in my bedroom, but I heard them yelling at him about a debt. I came downstairs to see what the big deal was. As soon as I got downstairs, they knocked me out and I when I woke up…he was gone."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

I began sewing the armor back together, having taken all the good pieces from either set to combine for the best quality protection. "And did they come back for you or what? What was all that nonsense out there in town?"

Jeremy rose from the bed and made his way to the bathroom. At first, I was afraid I had upset him with the third degree on his brother, but only seconds later he made his way back into the bedroom. He stood in front of the bed and tossed something towards me. I couldn't tell what it was at first. It was about the size of a cap, but I leaned from the desk and grabbed the little thing. It was a match book.

I turned it in my fingers for a moment, looking at the back which was solid white, and the front which had a faded picture of a camel on it.

"Open it," Jeremy instructed.

I did as he said and opened the little match book. Lifting up the cover, on the back was a drawn rat. The Rats. A drawn rat. It made sense.

"You can't get into their hideout without that," he informed. "One of them dropped it when they took Dean."

"I wonder what it means," I thought aloud.

"It's how they get into the hide out. You show it at the door."

"I guess that's why they beat you up, huh?"

Jeremy furrowed a brow in confusion. "What?"

"You went to the hide out right? They were bitching about trespassing when I came up."

Jeremy's face fell, and he plopped down onto the bed looking away. "No, I couldn't find it." He looked disappointed, sitting himself up against the headboard of the bed. "But I guess they caught me looking for it in the Wastes, because I was on my way to town for some supplies today and they jumped me."

I looked back down at my work station kept on with my project. "Well, Jeremy, you sure put yourself into a stupid position."

He sighed. "I know."

Jeremy stared off into the darkness for a moment. I left him to his thoughts. I'm sure he was very mentally preoccupied with everything that was going on with him. He was probably very worried about his brother, Dean. My heart really went out to him. I knew what it was like to lose your only family. I really missed my father.

"Hey," he said from within the darkness. He nodded toward Cam, asleep in the corner, snoring up a storm. "What's with you and that guy?"

I chuckled. _"That guy."_

"I lost my father from the fire inside the Vault. I told you I was brought to Megaton?"

Jeremy nodded, waiting for me to continue.

"When I was cleared up to heal, I started working at the General Supply store, called Crater Side Supply. The owner, Mora – that crazy bitch – sent me into the Wastes to collect some supplies. Being the naïve vault dweller I was, having spent my only time outside of the vault in a hospital bed pretty much, got myself into trouble."

"Raiders?" Jeremy's eyes were wide, horrified at the idea.

"Thank God no," I gasped. "It was a pack of rad-scorpions. Cam had been camping nearby." Turning around in my chair, I gazed across the room at Cam. "He was a jerk to me at first."

Jeremy scoffed and mumbled, "I can believe that."

I looked back to Jeremy on the bed. "But I think he pitied me, you know?"

"So what did he do?"

"He took me in, taught me the ways of the Waste, how to hunt, defend myself, what was dangerous. Which is pretty much everything. I dunno what it was, but Cam and I have been together ever since."

Jeremy's expression contorted in something that looked similar to disgust. "Wait, you're…with that guy?" he said.

I laughed. "No, we're not _together-_together. We're just…companions. He's like-" I paused for a moment, looking for the right word. "He's like my best friend. I don't think I ever had one of those before Cam."

There was another moment of silence between Jeremy and me, as he watched me fiddle around with the armor. Then he asked, "How old were you when your dad died."

"Sixteen. I'm twenty, now. Cambridge and I have been wandering around the Wastes together, now, for four years. We live in Megaton." I gestured toward the ceiling, pointing toward the above ground city of Edge Town. "We travel to collect items to sell."

"Like merchants?"

I laughed. "I guess. Except we steal from raiders, collect from old abandoned houses, collect tin cans for recycling, and scrap metal."

"Sounds like every other merchant I know."

I stood up, and held up the armor to gaze at it. "We're looters more than anything."

"But you help people too, right?"

"Yeah, I guess," I replied not thinking anything of it, sitting back down with the armor. I had a ways to go with it.

Jeremy had the matches in his hand now, and rotated the parcel in between his fingertips. "You think you could help me get my brother?"

I stopped with my armor for a minute, contemplating. I quickly glanced over my shoulder at Cam. Cambridge wasn't going to like the idea. We were low on supplies, money, and I could tell he was just ready to get back home so he could get drunk and relax. But Jeremy needed our help and I couldn't just pick and choose who to and not to help.

"I'd love to, but we have no supplies and no money," I sighed.

"I can get you supplies," said Jeremy without skipping a beat. "I've got food and caps."

"Yeah, but we need ammo and more guns. Everything I have is either jammed or broken."

"I can get you those, too."

I sighed again. I knew that with a lot of money, food, and weapons, Cam still wouldn't go for this. He wanted to go home and he was grouchy.

Jeremy waited patiently for my response, turning his eyes back towards the small match book.

"Just think about it," he said as he yawned.


End file.
